


The Liar's Thief

by Starfeet



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, King Loki, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1896429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starfeet/pseuds/Starfeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the All-Father's death and Thor's shocking abdication, Loki reigns supreme in Asgard. But his time as a ruler has made him still more bitter - until the liar forges an unlikely friendship with a palace maid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His future queen, his current mistress

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes the events at the end of Thor: The Dark World and runs far, far away. Thor abandoned the throne to be with Jane. Odin died sometime later, and Loki ascended to the throne. So, while it is currently canon (at least arguably) it probably won't be once the third Thor movie is released. Still, enjoy!

It was a beautiful day in Asgard. Spring had come, and the scent of apple blossom wafted through the palace. Nature’s pleasures did little, however, to allay the fury of a particular noble-woman as she made her way to the bedchambers of the King.

While her emotions were in tumult, her face was a mask of cold calm. It helped that light grey eyes gave her a look of intense focus, even while her thoughts raced. She strode quickly on. The rumour had to be stopped, and quickly, or she would be utterly humiliated. Servants bowed deferentially as the tall woman passed, but she ignored them, sweeping through the halls with the grace and fury of a storm.

She arrived at his door, smoothed her dress, and knocked hurriedly. ‘Loki?’

When she opened the door though, she did not find her fiancé. She found the maid who he was rumoured to be fucking.

Wrath rose in her throat, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she surveyed his latest dalliance. She was almost embarrassingly young-looking, with wide, brown eyes and a tumble of red-brown curls.

‘Lady Sigyn!’ The maid squeaked, dropping her scrubbing brush in her hurry to curtsy. ‘I’m so sorry, my lady. He isn’t here.’

The noblewoman narrowed her eyes as she thought. After a pause, she smiled, forcing herself to be calm. This was a game of survival. She knew how to play. And she knew that this young, naïve maid didn’t have the first clue.

‘I see. My fiancé is so very hard to keep track of.’ She seated herself on the chaise in the corner, fanning her skirts out around her as she examined her nails. The maid was still frozen to the spot.

After a pause, the maid picked up her scrubbing brush, and ventured. ‘The apple blossoms are quite beautiful this year, aren’t they Lady Sigyn?

Sigyn fought the urge to laugh. The maid was even more stupid than she had suspected. Regaining control, she spoke softly. ‘Indeed. But forgive me. I am at a loss. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.’

The maid looked surprised. It was unusual for Asgard’s high born to be so interested. ‘Nerida, my lady. Well. Ida, usually.’

Sigyn’s mouth quirked. ‘It suits you. “Beautiful innocent”. Quite an alluring description, don’t you think?’

‘I… I didn’t know that’s what it meant, my lady.’ The girl’s voice was guarded.

‘Names are powerful things. Do you know what my name means, Nerida?’

Nerida’s eyes grew fearful. ‘No, my lady.’

Sigyn stood, and took slow steps towards the maid. ‘It means “victorious lover”.’

Nerida broke eye contact and stared at the floor, but Sigyn gripped her chin and forced her to meet her gaze. ‘Loki has had many dalliances, with women far above your station. I have never concerned myself with these… affairs. They were fleeting, petty things. No doubt your dalliance with Asgard’s King will be too. But you in case you have another idea, you should remember. I was here first. I have endured. And I will not let Loki go. And even if I did, it would make no difference. He needs me. You are like…’

The corner of her mouth lifted. ‘You are like those apple blossoms you speak so highly of. A pretty pleasure, to be enjoyed and then forgotten as the seasons turn. Loki will forget you. As he has forgotten countless others. And even if he does not, what future can there be between a maid and a King?’

The maid’s eyes were tearful, but Sigyn could see a hint of fury. ‘This year’s blossoms may fade, my lady. But they will always return.’

Sigyn felt her blood boil. So she dug her nails into the girl’s cheek, leaving long, bloody scratches as the maid bit her lip to stay silent.

Then she left Loki’s chambers, and the maid began to cry.


	2. His kitchenhand becomes his maid

_Six months earlier…_

 

After a long day, entering her quarters should have felt like a welcome relief. She should have felt some of the tension leave her shoulders as she surveyed the snug room, lit warmly by clusters of candles.

 

Instead, all Nerida felt was weariness. She couldn’t be bothered removing her boots. Couldn’t bring herself to prepare any food. She collapsed in the nearest chair, but soon regretted that she hadn’t chosen the bed, because she was so tired that lifting herself from the chair she had settled in seemed impossible.

 

A groan escaped her, and she rubbed her face. Her skin was greasy from the night she had spent in the kitchen. It was well past midnight now, and she would be expected back in the kitchen by the eighth hour.

 

It took a veritable army of servants to keep the palace running smoothly, and Nerida, or Ida, as she was usually known, was one of the many girls who laboured in the kitchens each day to produce the mountain of food required for the nightly feasts.

 

Ida had worked here for almost a year now, but she still felt like a stranger in the palace’s gilded halls. She had come here to escape the suffocating smallness of her village of Glitnir, but now she almost missed it. Yes, in Glitnir all anybody ever did was eye her suspiciously, and whisper behind their hands when they thought she wasn’t looking, but at least they cared about her. At least they saw her. Here she was invisible.

 

Her thoughts drifted, her body relaxed, and soon she was dreaming of stealing treasures from the throne room.

 

***          *          ***

 

When Ida woke, she was still in her chair, and fingers of sunlight were poking through her shutters.

 

‘Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT!’

 

Jumping up, she ran frantically about the room, shedding dirty clothes for clean, tying back her greasy hair with a ribbon, and giving her face and teeth a perfunctory scrub.

 

She flew through the corridors, surprising a few other early risers, and reached the kitchen heavily winded.

 

Amid all the hustle and bustle of breakfast preparation, Ragnor, the head cook, still noted her entrance with a frown. She strode quickly towards Ida, leaving serving girls and kitchen hands scattered in her wake. Ida froze, her heart thumping, as Ragnor placed meaty hands on ample hips.

 

‘Well, Ida, you’ve picked quite a day to be late.’

 

Gasping, Ida began to babble an apology, but she was cut off almost immediately.

 

‘Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Gilda, you’re working for her now.’

 

Ida blinked. ‘What? But Gilda’s head of cleaning…’

 

Ragnor rolled her eyes and turned back to an enormous vat of porridge. ‘Yes. And now you’re a maid. So she’s your boss. So go apologize to her.’

 

‘Oh. Okay.’ Ida tried to hide the hurt she felt. Ragnor was tough, but she had come to respect her, and it hurt to be dismissed so shortly. Something in her tone must have given her away, however, because Ragnor turned to regard her with a gentler expression.

 

‘Don’t act all heartbroken now. This is a promotion, and you should know it. No one likes the kitchens except me. It’s hot and smelly. Maids work hard, but they work clean. You’ll love it. Pay’s a little better too. Now hurry up, before Gilda decides she made a mistake in asking for you.’

 

After yelling a quick goodbye to other kitchen hands, Ida dashed away, fighting down panic. The kitchens might be smelly and hot, but you didn’t have to deal with nobility. And the nobility terrified her.

 

Ida fought her way into the third hall through a stream of exiting maids, all dressed in their neat gold and white uniforms. Her greasy hair and patched dress might have been a non-issue in the kitchens, but here they stood out.

 

_Oh gods I wish I hadn’t overslept…_

On entering the hall, Gilda raised her ebony haired-head, and fixed her with a slightly aggressive smile.

 

‘Late on your first day? You do like to make an impression.’

 

Ida smiled apologetically and inclined her head. ‘My apologies, Gilda. I went all the way to the kitchens first, and helped with half of breakfast before Ragnor spotted me and told me about the change.’ _No need for you to know about my sleep in…_

 

Gilda’s smile broadened, becoming genuine. ‘Poor Ragnor. Always so busy. You’ll be with Ayin for this week. And next week you’ll be on your own.’

 

Ida slapped on her best confident smile, and tried to force down the panic. She would be facing nobles alone, and so soon!

 

Ignorant of Ida’s imminent melt-down, Gilda turned and gestured at a plump girl across the room. ‘Ayin! She’s here, finally.’

 

Ayin wasn’t a small woman, but she had a beautiful face and a light way of walking that Ida envied.

 

Ayin smiled. ‘Ready to face the King?’

 

Ida’s bravado melted like snow before a summer breeze. ‘What?!’

 

***          *          ***

 

It turned out that Gilda had a policy that new maids should learn from the best. Ayin was the best, and so the King’s quarters were among the perhaps twenty rooms that she cleaned in a typical day. And that mean that for the next week, so did Ida.

 

Ida couldn’t remember a time when Loki hadn’t been King of Asgard, but many in the palace still spoke of the reign of Odin, and Thor’s shocking abdication, as though it were last month. Ayin, it seemed, was one of these people.

 

She was a prodigious gossip, and in their first day together, Ida learnt more about the King and his court than she had learnt in a year in the palace. While Ida was shocked by how much Ayin knew, Ayin seemed equally shocked (and delighted) at how little Ida knew.

 

‘He’s a womaniser. Almost every week, I find a pair of woman’s undergarments in here. And they can’t be the same woman. The sizes are all different.’

 

Ida gaped. ‘But isn’t he… I thought he was marrying Sigyn?’

 

They were on their hands and knees in the King’s chambers, scrubbing the floor with vigour. Ayin waved one hand dismissively, while the other tightly gripped a scrubbing brush.

 

‘The engagement’s been in place for how long? Something like seventy-three years! Practically since he was crowned. Trust me, she’s just a cover.’

 

Ida wasn’t really one for direct gossip. She had been raised to gossip in hushed tones, faking an air of concern for the person whose reputation they were quietly tearing down. Ayin might have been more direct, but it somehow made it less… wrong. And frankly, the thought that the powerful, beautiful Sigyn was subject to the same hardships in love as maids and cooks and dancers… it made the cold-eyed woman so much more human.

 

‘Does he love her?’ Ida enquired.

 

Ayin snorted. ‘Loki doesn’t love anyone. Especially Sigyn. He uses her, and she lets him because she wants the power and prestige of being his betrothed. I’ve never found anything of hers in here. And he never sleeps anywhere but in his chambers.’

 

‘How can you be so sure?’

 

Ayin fixed her with a look. ‘Promise not to say anything to Gilda?’

 

Ida grinned. ‘Of course not.’

 

The other girl leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘The King likes to sleep in. He lets me come in and clean, provided I stay out of his bedchambers. The only time he isn’t in here is when he has an official event planned.’

 

Ida gaped. She might have been a maid for half a day, but it was common knowledge that servants kept out of sight, performing their duties when the lords and ladies were absent, or in special areas that the nobility never visited.

 

Ayin’s expression was cheeky. ‘There is a good chance that before the week is out, you will get to see our King in his morning robe, with messy hair.’

 

Ida’s eyes hurt from being pulled so wide. ‘But that’s…insane. Impossible!’

 

Ayin just laughed, and gave her a friendly elbow. ‘Enough gawping. You can’t think about the King in a state of undress all day.’

 

‘I wasn’t thinking about that!' Ida protested. 'I am now though.'

 

Ayin snorted, and the girls dissolved into giggles.

 

Cleaning Loki’s chambers took an hour and a half, owing to the size of his rooms, and the impossibly high level of detail each task required. A single mark on the wall was enough to send Ayin into a near panic.

 

His quarters were enormous. The double doors opened onto a grandly appointed entrance hall, then led to a long living room with fireplaces at both ends. Off this room branched a cavernous study, and his bedchamber, to which a washroom and a dressing room were attached.

 

Ida wasn’t surprised by the level of grandeur evident in his chambers, but she was taken aback by the decorating style. It was quite different from the rest of the palace. The colours were generally darker, and he favoured dark woods like mahogany over the usual stained birch.

 

‘Did he have these rooms decorated specially?’ Ida asked as they reordered the clothes hung in Loki’s wardrobe, straightening and checking for lint as they went.

 

‘Naturally. I swear, he’s so melodramatic. You can tell, just from his rooms, that he likes to think of himself as a big, scary, magician.’ She made a face and waggled her fingers in a vaguely spooky way. ‘It’s pathetic.’

 

Ida didn’t know quite how to feel about the statement. She too had chosen to eschew the usual creams and golds too when decorating her tiny quarters, although she had chosen light blues and greens instead of the darker colours Loki favoured. But there was no point antagonizing Ayin, so she laughed and said no more.

 

By the fourth hour, they had finished cleaning the quarters of nobility, and returned to cleaning the endless corridors and halls of the palace. They had encountered not a single noble, other than passing the usual faces in the halls.

 

‘We stay out of the way. We clean in the middle of the day, when most of them are out. And if they’re home, we clean other rooms and come back. I can count the conversations I’ve had with them on one hand.’

 

Ida felt like singing. This was a definite step up from the kitchens, where they would currently be chopping a mountain of onions, and it looked like her fear of engaging with those far above her station was unfounded.

 

‘What happens if someone returns while we’re in there?’ She enquired.

 

‘The same process, more or less. Although I’m afraid all the to-ing and fro-ing can make for a long work day. Sometimes I’ll have to wait until the wee hours, doing aught but twiddling my thumbs, while the King finishes up some boring meeting in a hall I was supposed to clean.’

 

Ida struggled to keep a straight face. The life of a maid seemed almost spoiled in comparison to a kitchen-hand. Waiting around might be… well, boring, but it wasn’t exhausting or hard.

 

‘I see. At least it doesn’t happen frequently.’

 

When they had completed their assigned cleaning, Ayin informed her that she would have to visit Gilda. ‘She’ll want to quiz you on how to do everything.’

 

Seeing Ida’s uncertainty, she placed a hand on the thinner girl’s shoulder. ‘Be calm. Just remember what I told you, and all will be well. Most of it is common sense.’

 

Ida smiled. ‘If you say so. Gilda scares me a little.’

 

Ayin laughed. ‘Are you doing anything after your meeting with Gilda?’

 

‘No. Well, not unless she tells me to. Why?’

 

Ayin offered her a cheeky smile. ‘I was thinking the kitchen-hand might like a taste of the entertainments the palace can offer in the evening. Come on. How long has it been since you had an evening where you weren’t up to your elbows in flour and dishwater?’

 

‘Well….’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. Chapter 2 of a Loki fic, and still no Loki? Don't worry. He'll arrive in Chapter 3 and throw a lovely tantrum, just to make up for lost time.
> 
> On a separate note, you may notice from my love of the letter "u" that I'm not writing in American English. I do hope you'll forgive me for being so self-centred, and letting my Australian background colour my writing. (See what I did there).


	3. His rude awakening, and what followed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Loki appears!

When Ida awoke the next morning, she was once again stiff and sore, but the feeling was mitigated by a lightness in her chest. Last night Ayin had taken her to the servants’ dinner hall, and shown her dancing and drink and song. These things were always available in the evenings of course, but previously Ida had been trapped in the kitchens, or too shy to join in. With Ayin showing her the way, everything had been wonderful. She had even danced three times with a kind-looking blonde man, whose name escaped her. She wasn’t interested, really, but the attention was flattering nonetheless.

 

Ida passed two more days in Ayin’s pleasant company, learning quickly the intricacies of a maid’s work. She was both disappointed and relieved to discover that the King appeared to be rather busy that week, because each morning showed his chambers to be empty. All too soon, however, fate rather casually turned her world upside down.

 

Throughout her third day on the job, Ayin had seemed preoccupied. As they were doing a final check of the King’s chambers, Ayin gripped her sleeve. ‘I know we haven’t known each other long, but I have a favour to ask of you.’ She bit her lip, and avoided eye-contact. ‘I’ve been seeing… a man. He is all that I would ever desire, but he is married.’

 

Ida couldn’t stop her surprise showing. Pain entered Ayin’s eyes. ‘I know, I know. I feel terrible! But it was an arranged marriage. No love is lost on either side. And he… we are so happy whenever we are together. His wife’s sister is ill, and she will be away tonight and all of tomorrow. He has asked me to come to him.’

 

She paused, and took Ida’s hand in her own. ‘If it makes you uncomfortable, by all means refuse. But what I would like… what I dare to hope for, is that you will clean on your own tomorrow. You know the tasks well enough. All you need do is go early to fetch the keys from Gilda’s cupboard, so that she does not see it is you, and not I, who took them. Please, Ida. There are not many chances like this for us.’

 

Ida felt torn. She was terrified of being caught. But the affection she felt for Ayin after these three days was greater than what she had felt for anyone in a long time. She was Ida’s best and only friend in the palace.

 

Eventually, she nodded. ‘I will do it.’

 

Ayin’s squeal of delight made it all seem worthwhile. At least, until the next morning came…

 

***          *          ***

 

Getting the keys was easy enough. Having risen before dawn, Ida crept into Gilda’s office, smiling at the night-shift head maid, who currently slept face-down on the desk. She had had an explanation prepared, but this was even easier. She eased the cupboard door open, grabbed the numerous shiny keys from their hooks, and slid them into her apron pocket.

 

She returned to her room for an hour or two of dozing, before arising and assisting a large group of maids to clean the lesser banquet hall, which had been used for a private gathering the night before.

 

Private or not, the gathering still seemed to have gotten quite rowdy. Ida ended up perched on a stool, wielding a dripping mop overhead as she attempted to clean ale off the ceiling.

 

The chatter of the other maids surrounded her, soothing her worries. She was one of a multitude. No one would notice her presence, and Ayin’s absence. She was invisible. For once, the thought brought her comfort.

 

Cleaning the lesser banquet hall took most of the morning: it was the eleventh hour before she stood before the door to Loki’s chambers, an hour later than she and Ayin had previously arrived. She ran through her list of tasks in her head as she quietly opened the door.

 

Turning, she stopped dead. Before her was the comical, blush-inducing evidence of a hurried tryst. A literal trail of clothes leading from the entrance hall to Loki’s bedroom.

 

_Oh gods…_

Ida wished fiercely that Ayin was here. She knew that the king had given Ayin permission to clean while he slept, but she didn’t know if this permission extended to her, on her own, especially given the presence of an unknown noble-woman in his bed-chambers.

 

Should she go and come back later? No – she was already running late, and the other nobles seemed to anticipate their arrival and vacate when the hour drew near. She would have to hurry to keep to the unspoken schedule.

 

Nerves thrumming through her, Ida began with thorough dusting, and followed with a quick sweep of the floors, both quiet activities. The rugs were next on her to-do list. But beating rugs made a lot of noise. Maybe she should do it in the hall? _It’ll just echo…_ Suddenly it occurred to her that there was a perfectly good balcony attached to Loki’s living room. She could just do it outside.

 

She hefted two of the larger rugs and carried them into the chill morning air. Far below, in the palace gardens, leaves had begun to turn yellow and fall. Others, embarrassed by their lateness, turned red and hurriedly followed.

The sight was invigorating, and Ida’s heart was light as she rhythmically whacked her broom against the rug, tiny puffs of dust rising up, only to be snatched by the strong wind that swirled beyond the balcony. After a minute or so, Ida took a breather, inhaling deeply as she listened to the low roar of the wind about the palace.

 

The next moment, all peace was shattered. Several things happened all at once.

 

She heard the balcony door wrench open. She felt a strong tug as her broom yanked itself out of her hands and hurtled to the ground below. Most frightening of all, she heard a vaguely familiar voice, roughened by sleep, hiss at her.

 

‘Are you aware, maid, of whose apartments you are cleaning, and how loudly you are cleaning them?’

 

She whirled about to face her irate King, noting how mussed his black hair was. Normally slicked straight back, it looked wild and tangled.

 

She curtsied, sinking low and staying there as her hear hammered. ‘Yes, my King. I am so very sorry for waking you.’ _Think, think! What to say…_ She kept her eyes lowered.

Loki remained silent. After a moment, Ida raised her eyes. She had hoped her show of humility would mollify him. It hadn’t. His nostrils were flared, his jaw jutted forward, and those dangerous eyes were alive with anger.

 

Ida broke eye contact again, and fixed her gaze on his shoulder. He was wearing a robe, and long, dark red pants, but no shirt. She could tell. A bright V of pale skin demanded her attention. It looked so smooth.

 

Aware she was ogling the King of Asgard, her _employer_ for goodness’ sake, she yanked her eyes back to his face, and found amusement there.

 

She swallowed. It appeared her inappropriate regard had mollified him where her cowering had not.

 

A tiny smile threatened the severe line of Loki’s mouth as he crossed his arms, regarding her with a mixture of disdain and amusement.

 

‘You may yet earn forgiveness. How old are you?’

 

Ida’s face promptly went a red that would have made berries, tomatoes and autumn leaves very jealous indeed. ‘F-forty-seven, my King.’

 

Loki appeared exasperated. ‘Not like that, you foolish drone.’

 

Ida wasn’t sure whether she was glad he wasn’t propositioning her, disappointed about his lack of interest, or just afraid that he seemed to be mad again.

 

‘You look like a child. And while I very much want to hurl you over the balcony, the murder of innocents leaves a bad taste in the mouth of my court.’

 

Ida wasn’t sure what to say to that.

 

Loki was inspecting her closely. ‘Forty-seven. Really? You barely look thirty.’

 

Ida nodded a little glumly. She had not taken a man to bed for almost two years, but the last one had insisted on an oath that she was above twenty-seven, which was regarded as the youngest age at which an Asgardian should engage in sexual activities.

 

Loki frowned as he came closer. Ida froze. He was too close, crowding her against the balcony. Surely he didn’t really mean to push her over, did he?

 

When his hand reached out, however, it was not to push her over the balcony, but to pull at one of Ida’s tight, red-brown curls.

 

‘It’s the hair,’ He commented derisively as he released the curl. ‘You look like a doll. Or a poodle.’

 

‘A what?’

 

Loki withdrew, shooting her another glare. ‘A silly Midgardian dog.’

 

Ida felt her face heat, but she kept the blush at bay. He could insult her all he liked. He was King after all. But such childish attacks were beneath him. The encounter was fast proving to her that nobles were not really so different from commoners, except that they got to make the rules of propriety, and so they could break them with impunity when they chose.

 

Loki was still examining her with a frown. ‘Weren’t you… shorter? With blonde hair?’

 

Ida smiled despite herself. ‘You mean wasn’t I Ayin?’

 

Loki rolled his eyes. ‘Or whatever her name was. Why isn’t she here? She, at least, could clean without waking the entire palace with her own rug-based percussion.’

 

‘She… um. She was training me.’ Ida floundered, before coming up with an excuse. ‘She got sick. Unfortunately it’s just me today.’ _Nice recovery._

 

Loki must have disagreed, however.

 

‘You’re a terrible liar.’ He informed her as he turned and walked back into the living room.

 

Ida gathered up the rug and followed him, her heart beating rapidly. His tone seemed to indicate that, while aware of her deception, he was unconcerned. Would he bother revealing his suspicions to Gilda?

 

When her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the apartment, she found Loki lounging in one of the chairs, massaging his neck with an angry frown. Maybe he was more upset by the lie than he had let on.

 

Ida busied herself with arranging the rug on the floor. ‘What will you do, my lord?’

 

‘About what?’ He snapped, continuing to dig his fingers into the tendons between neck and shoulder. Ida suspected his bad mood had more to do with his evidently sore neck than anything else, but continued anyway.

 

‘About… well, Ayin’s absence.’

 

Loki snorted. ‘Nothing. The lives of servants are mundane and trivial. So too their deceptions. Just don’t wake me up again.’ He stood, apparently dismissing her, and began to walk to his bedchamber.

 

Something about being so quickly dismissed pulled at her. So she did something foolish. She contradicted her King.

 

‘The identity of the liar does not decide the significance of the lie, you know.’

 

He halted, and turned. ‘What would an innocent little maid like _you_ know of deception?’ He spat.

 

His gleaming eyes and tight slash of a mouth made for a terrifying expression, but something in Ida refused to be cowed. She, of all people, knew about lying and its consequences. That was why she, a chieftan’s daughter, destined for a comfortable marriage and a prominent place in local politics, was instead standing before Asgard’s King.

 

Common sense told her that she should smile and apologize, go back to cleaning, and try to forget this whole conversation. But something about the intensity of his expression compelled her to continue.

 

‘I know that maintaining a deception can be exhausting.’

 

Her honesty carried little weight with the King, who laughed and began to advance on her angrily. ‘Oh, how simple it is for you! Truth and light and life on the one hand, and lies and darkness and evil on the other. And now you’ve generously decided to show me the light. How very righteous.’

 

He was whispering now, his face inches from hers. Ida averted her eyes, and struggled to keep from flinching.

 

‘Did Ayin listen to your advice?’ He paused.

 

Ida wanted to correct him, to assert that she had given no advice at all, but held her tongue.

 

He interpreted the silence as an affirmative. ‘No? Well then…’ He turned away, but whirled suddenly to slap her in the face, hissing. ‘Spare me your infantile moralizing!’

 

Tears rolled down her cheeks, but Ida felt no pain, only shock.

 

Loki continued to rant. ‘How easy it is to be good when you have no duties to uphold, no difficult decisions! Even when you deceive, there are no consequences. Ayin is gone, but so what?’

 

He was back in her personal space, his voice soft and dangerous. ‘Right and wrong are easy to divine when you achieve nothing. When one rules a kingdom, the same action hurts some and heals others. And yet the whole kingdom thinks as you do, like a foolish, simple maid.’

 

He waited until she met his eyes, and then moved closer still to whisper, with barely controlled rage, ‘Get. Out.’

 

Every fibre of her being wanted to obey, but something about the out of control ruler was familiar, and she couldn’t help but empathize with his struggle.

 

Ida inclined her head, and turned away. When she had taken perhaps three steps, however, she spoke again.

 

‘You misunderstood me, my King,’ she murmured softly. ‘I did not mean that deception is evil.’

 

She turned to face him, and was momentarily stunned by the raw, hurt intensity of his gaze.

 

‘Deception can be many things.’ She continued. ‘Necessary. Fun. Even kind.’ She forced herself to smile at him. ‘I did not mean to moralize.’

 

Loki’s eyes widened, but a mask had settled over his features, and she could read no emotion. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer, but his tone was colourless. ‘You are brave to correct your King. Are you always so forward?’

 

Ida lowered her eyes. ‘No, my lord. I apologize.’

 

Fear shot through her, but something about the set of Loki’s mouth told her that she was forgiven.

 

‘Very few surprise me these days, little maid.’ A smile seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth, but it was restrained. ‘Go. Tomorrow you will clean my chambers in the evening. I am tired of being awoken by surreptitious cleaning.’

 

Ida’s cheeks flamed scarlet, but she nodded bravely and curtsied low. She lost her balance slightly as she straightened, but Loki had already turned away.

 

Relieved, she hurried out of the room.


	4. His difficult Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which ruling a Kingdom is more work than play

The rest of Ida’s day passed in an agony of rumination. Despite the apparent peace brokered between Loki and herself, her agitation only grew. She was, by turns, proud of her bravery, dismayed at her insolence, and terrified of the consequences her actions might have. She needed to tell someone, but there was no one to turn to in Ayin’s absence.

 

Sleep avoided her for several hours that night.

 

Loki, on the other hand, dismissed Ida from his thoughts almost immediately by returning to his bedroom, and the Sigyn look-alike who awaited him. His fiancé had been particularly insolent the day prior, and so he drew no small satisfaction from watching a lesser noblewoman who could have been her sister moan enthusiastically around his cock.

 

He supposed it was immature. At that moment, with a woman on her knees before him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Afterward, while the woman slept, and Loki dressed for the day ahead, he found his thoughts drifting to the odd conversation he had had with the maid.

 

He was not used to surprises. Frustration with the general state of things, certainly, but rarely did anything truly surprise him. It was unfortunate she was insolent. Few in Asgard seemed capable of understanding moral complexity, but he would not use his power to promote audacious servants, no matter how clever.

 

Perhaps he could use her as a spy? But no, he rarely had need of them. His magic served him better than any spy.

 

His meeting with his head adviser, a cousin of Thor’s companion Fandral, went poorly that morning.

 

‘The Council doesn’t like your tax reform, they’re not happy with your choice of Lady Sif as the new ambassador to Jotunheim, and they want you to decide how much gold to put toward Thor’s welcome festival _today_.’ His head adviser wearily informed him. ‘Which task do you wish to turn to first?’

 

Loki continued to walk about the large room, enjoying the chill breeze that swept in from the slightly open window. ‘I wouldn’t worry about the festival, Valbrand. I’m sure the Council will spend however much they see fit, regardless of what version of exorbitant budget I approve. But when they do, make a note of it. I want someone to call Sigyn in.’

 

‘Is that wise, my Lord?’ Valbrand seemed genuinely concerned. Sigyn was not known for her yielding disposition.

 

Loki offered a smile much colder than the breeze. ‘Is it wise to question your King?’

 

Valbrand coughed, and quickly launched into an explanation of the Council’s reluctance to appoint Lady Sif, a woman famous for her combative exploits, as an ambassador.

Loki wasn’t interested. ‘Our relationship with Jotunheim has been distant during my reign. The post is largely ceremonial. Anyway, in the event of closer contact, it is likely to be war, so I fail to see how appointing a _warrior_ is anything but appropriate.’

 

Valbrand nodded as he scribbled quickly on one of the many sheafs of parchment he carried on his person. ‘I will inform the Council and ask them to reconsider.’

 

Loki sighed. ‘I suspect it’s nothing they don’t already know. They just enjoy futile displays of obstinacy.’

 

Valbrand looked uncomfortable. ‘The Council said more or less the same about you, your majesty.’

 

Loki laughed and smiled widely. ‘I assure you, my stubbornness is _anything_ but futile.’

 

‘I do wish you were allowed in Council meetings still, sir. The terrifying smile is hard to convey second-hand.’

 

Loki laughed bitterly. He didn’t enjoy being reminded of the Council’s simple _existence_ , let alone the recent expansion of their powers to include the ability to exclude him from their gatherings. The very idea that Asgard’s King could be held accountable by a particular body was completely alien to their laws and customs. Loki regretted few of his decisions, but the decision to create a puppet body to mollify the naysayers had been a foolish one. He had thought that appointing his strong-willed fiancé to the Council would sufficiently protect his interests, but it soon became apparent that Sigyn had only ever been interested in gathering power for herself.

 

If Valbrand noticed his King’s bitter reverie, he wisely chose to ignore it, and instead steered the conversation back to Thor’s welcome festival.  Loki grimaced. The new topic was no better – talk of his brother invariably filled him with impotent and pointless anger. 

 

He had not laid eyes on his brother in well over thirty years, and his last visit had been brief, and a complete surprise. This time, Thor had announced his intentions, and all of Asgard had pulled together to produce an elaborate spectacle that Loki suspected would do nothing but sadden his brother.

 

Not that Thor needed much help these days. Heimdall reported that Jane’s death had broken something in the blonde warrior, had made him a contemplative, retiring man. Loki had trouble imagining it, and chose to remember and loathe the arrogant buffoon he had been.

 

Valbrand filled him in on a few matters, and then began to detail a squabble that had broken out about which noble child should portray Thor in the re-enactment. Loki’s fist had slammed the table before Loki even knew what he was doing.

 

‘What does it matter?!’ Loki demanded. ‘My brother is coming home, and the occasion is to be marked with ridiculous spectacle. I have given my permission, reluctantly. But I do not want to be involved. You may speak for me in such matters. Don’t bother to consult me.’

 

The blonde man looked cowed, and apologized.

 

‘Now.’ Loki stood and began pacing. ‘The tax reforms. What in the nine realms is wrong with them this time?’

 

Loki had been attempting to pass new laws regarding the piece-meal tax system in Asgard for almost three years, but was stuck in an endless loop of proposal, rejection and revision. Fundamentally, however, it was a prolonged battle of wills. Both parties pretended to make concessions, but in reality the law they had rejected the evening prior was little different to the law Loki had submitted three years ago.

 

Valbrand sighed. ‘They made all sorts of arguments, but it boils down to the same thing as ever. They don’t think a comprehensive tax on noble families is wise.’

 

Loki’s pacing increased to an angry march up and down the study. ‘Not allowed to conquer. Not allowed to tax. I have to raise funds somehow! Gold has to come from somewhere.’

 

‘I sympathize, your majesty. The Council is completely unwilling to alter their position. They do have a counter-proposal, though.’ Valbrand offered him a small sheaf of parchment.

 

Loki snorted upon reading the title. ‘This must be in jest. Are they truly that stupid?’

 

Valbrand shrugged.

 

‘ “The Council propose that his majesty increase taxes upon the harvest of grains and other crops as detailed in the following pages.” ’ Loki quoted with disbelief. ‘I have no great love for peasants, but do the Council want them to starve? The taxes are already too high! It discourages farming, and it caused that food-shortage last winter. Didn’t they read the appendix I sent them last time?’

 

‘Apparently not.’ Valbrand concluded glumly.

 

Loki stopped pacing to massage his twinging neck. Ruling a Kingdom while beholden to a Council made for inefficient and frustrating government. Sometimes he contemplated murdering the whole lot of them, admitting it openly, and then daring anyone who objected to challenge him. A physical fight would mark a welcome change from the endless bickering of the court.

 

Loki resumed his staccato walk, and wondered when lying had become so dreary. The careful scheming of his youth was long gone, along with the glory of inevitable triumph over surprised and outmanoeuvred foes. The maid’s face came to him, and he recalled her assertion that deception could be fun.

 

‘Well, not anymore,’ He muttered to himself.

 

The meeting concluded shortly thereafter, leaving Loki in a foul temper. So much so that when took his lunch, and found the pheasant overcooked, he demanded to speak to the “slack-jawed, foul-breathed idiot” who had done so.

 

A trembling kitchen-hand appeared a short time later, and Loki yelled for a solid four minutes straight. The woman left sobbing uncontrollably, which somewhat soured his enjoyment of the rant. People collapsing entirely left a bad taste in his mouth. Once again, he found himself thinking of the fearful but determined maid.

 

Later, as he walked along an open balcony and surveyed the view, he realized he was idly daydreaming about her hair, and what it would feel like to tug on it in certain intimate situations.

 

He chided himself for being distracted by such trivialities, and determined to focus upon defeating the Council on the taxation law. He had tolerated their delays long enough. Having conjured an illusion to take his place on the balcony, he left invisibly, retracing his steps to the Western wing of the palace, where the meetings were held.

 

Perhaps, he reflected, some good might come of the Council’s determination to exclude him from their meetings. Now, their conversation would be unguarded, freer. Such loose speech might proffer the means by which to undermine their plans.

 

It was almost dark by the time the Council assembled in their chosen hall, and Loki had grown impatient during the delay, restless but unable to pace without risking discovery. Sigyn was the last to arrive, wearing a blush coloured gown that, to Loki’s private joy, made her look tired and washed out.

 

Petty? Certainly. But Loki enjoyed it nonetheless.

 

The group settled, and the meeting began.

 

‘Valbrand has reported that, despite our earnest entreaty, the King remains determined to tax the wealth of noble families, both on earnings in a given period, and holdings.’ Errick, the convener of the Council, pronounced wearily.

 

The statement was met with mutterings of discontent, and Loki rolled his eyes. _Spare me the banality of bureaucracy_ , he thought, equally frustrated and amused.

 

Sigyn spoke up. ‘We need speak politely no longer. My “fiancé”,’ Loki was pleased to note she bothered to put the word in quotation marks, ‘is not present. His policies are unacceptable, and this stalemate has forced many Asgardians into poverty. We cannot allow ourselves to be bullied. We must stand up, for the good of the common man.’

 

Loki itched to speak, to scream at the two-faced woman, to refute her simplified stance, to overpower her and blot her out of existence. But nearly eighty years of rule had forced him to become still more patient. He bore her hypocritical charade in silence.

 

There was strong assent from around the table. Volstagg in particular seemed enthused, as he always did when Sigyn spoke. It was widely known that he had more than a brotherly fondness for the icy blonde.

 

Errick, however, was unmoved by Sigyn’s words. ‘Be that as it may, I fail to see what more we may put before him. And the delay is costing the peasants, perhaps more than the King’s idea ever would. Much and all as I disagree with his choice of method, I don’t believe the idea is without merit. Perhaps, once he feels the backlash, he will be more open to reason.’

 

Sigyn glared across the table. ‘I would give your words more credence, Errick, if I didn’t know Loki so well. He is stubborn and vain. Even if the idea led to catastrophe, he would not abandon it.’

 

‘Be that as it may,’ Errick countered with more restraint, ‘the tax on farming _is_ too high in these current circumstances,’

 

There was a wild flurry of talk from around the table, as people clamoured to make themselves heard. From what Loki could gather, the recommendation to raise taxes on farming had not attracted universal support. Some wanted to rehash that argument, others wanted to affirm the recommendation, and still others wanted to avoid another lengthy discussion.

 

Eventually, Errick was able to continue. ‘Perhaps we might approve Loki’s new taxes, but on a provisional basis? Make them subject to review at the end of two years? There’s no doubt that times are hard for the Commoners, and even if Loki’s scheme does seek to make beggars of the rich, it would not do so in two years, and those two years might be all that’s necessary to let the poor recover their strength.’

 

Loki was disgusted by how many heads swivelled to Sigyn immediately after Errick finished speaking. The Council was a puppet body alright – but a puppet for Sigyn, not Loki.

 

Sigyn had not obtained her position by refusing to acknowledge reason, and she did so now. ‘I understand your point, Errick. But I believe that if we stand firm just a little longer, Loki will give in. My sources tell me that he seemed particularly discouraged today.’

 

Loki found himself leaning forward. He was unaware of any spies close to him at the moment. He had found her latest informant not two weeks ago. Perhaps she was lying, and simply embellishing the conversation she no doubt had with Valbrand following Loki’s meeting with the head adviser. Valbrand had told him that she often came by after their meetings to ask oddly specific questions.

 

‘Now,’ Sigyn continued. ‘It may simply be that he has come across trouble in his promiscuous paradise.’ This was greeted with laughter. ‘But I believe that his resolve is weakening.’

 

Volstagg chucked loudly. ‘Is he still seeing that blonde girl? Fronhild?’

 

There was more laughter. ‘She must be feistier than she looks, to trouble the mighty Loki!’ Someone suggested.

 

The table erupted, and Loki could stand no more. Disgusted, he cast a spell to make himself formless for a brief time, and walked through the stone wall, gaining solidity once more as he strode quickly through the corridor.

 

The Council might be able to delay his decisions, but they could not deny him forever. If they had not agreed to his terms in a month, he would dissolve the body, and, instead of simply appointing prominent members of the nobility, he would call for an election. If Sigyn wanted to claim she acted for the good of the people, more power to her. But she would have to convince the people first, and Loki doubted the snooty woman would have much success. Midgardian ideals had gotten him into this mess, Loki reflected, so it seemed only fair that Midgardian ideals should get him out.


	5. His Brother's Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updates? What are updates?
> 
> But seriously, enjoy the chapter.

Despite Loki’s refusal to set any sort of budget, Thor’s welcome feast went ahead with all the pomp and ceremony he had expected, and he watched with disdain. He was seated on a dais, flanked by the returned Prince on one side, and his betrothed on the other. In the centre of the rectangular banquet hall, youngsters were enthusiastically re-enacting one of Thor’s more famous escapades with the warriors three.

 

Beside Thor, Volstagg was laughing heartily, almost drowning out Sif and Fandral’s amusement. Thor, however, was silent. It appeared Heimdall had been correct. The loss of Jane had changed him.

 

‘Brother?’

 

Loki considered pretending he hadn’t heard, but no, it was not quite so loud, despite the court’s laughter.

 

Loki turned to regard the man who considered them family, looking at him properly for the first time since his arrival. He looked different. There was a heaviness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and grey touched his temples.

 

Thor smiled. ‘Ah, so you can see me. I had begun to wonder how long you could pretend I was back on Midgard.’

 

Loki shrugged. He had no idea how to react to this new Thor, leeched of all arrogance and pride by the hardships of a life among mortals.

 

The re-enactment ended, and a new one began. Loki gripped the arms of the chair when he realized which story was about to be played out. A new-comer, a tall, slender boy of about twelve entered the performing square, with his skin whitened, wearing a black wig, and a familiar forest green and dark gold scarf.

 

‘I am Loki!’ The boy announced. ‘And I am burdened with glorious purpose.’

 

Loki gritted his teeth. He was to watch his own defeat at the hands of Thor and his Midgardian helpers. He suspected that Sigyn was behind this last minute performance – she never missed a chance to humiliate him.

 

The smirk on his fiancé’s face confirmed his suspicions.

 

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder as the performance – a dramatized version of his attack on Stuttgart – began in shouting earnest.

 

‘I cannot say I think much of the judgement of the one who chose this tale. That day was upsetting for us both.’ Thor murmured.

 

Loki was consoled, at least until he realized that he remembered precisely who was consoling him. He shrugged away the hand, and turned to look at the blond giant beside him.

 

‘You’ve changed.’ Loki hadn’t realized how betrayed he felt by Thor’s transformation until he heard the accusing tone in his voice.

 

Thor looked on him kindly. ‘Yes. And so have you, brother.’

 

In the square, to the delight of the audience, the boy-Loki summoned multiple illusions of himself (really, more boys dressed identically) and roared at a shabbily dressed crowd to kneel. It appeared that Sigyn’s understanding of Midgardian fashion was inaccurate.

 

Boy-Loki insulted the attire of snivelling crowd before him, drawing laughter from the far better dressed audience.

 

‘When was the last time you joked?’ Thor asked. ‘The last time you smiled?’

 

Loki was startled, and unsure of how to reply. Poisonous anger at Thor’s presumptuous questions welled up in him, but remained contained, for now.

 

Thor went on. ‘Much of the malice is gone from you. But it seems the mischief departed as well. A shame. When we were children, you always made me laugh.’

 

‘We have not been children for a long time.’ Loki reminded him through clenched teeth.

 

Around them, the nobles gathered exploded into applause as a tall blonde boy representing Thor entered the square, hefting an enormous wooden hammer. Deep drums, symbolizing thunder, beat heavily in time with boy’s swings.

 

Loki felt each resonating thud as a tiny shockwave to the chest. He gripped the chair tightly and endured the rest of the performance. To his relief, Thor did not press any further.

 

***               *                ***

 

Ida brushed her hands down her apron as she got to her feet. Beside her, Ayin looked similarly fatigued. Many maids had been required to act as serving girls in the preparation of Thor’s Welcome Festival, leaving the remaining maids to work far harder. Tonight, while the King was reunited with his brother, Ida and Ayin had only just finished cleaning the King’s chamber. They had finished in the evening not out of any desire to adhere to his request, but because they simply had not had the time before.

 

Ida collapsed in one of Loki’s overstuffed maroon armchairs with an angry whine. ‘Uuuuungh. Why Ayin? Why did they do this to us?’ She closed her eyes and let her head fall back completely.

 

Ayin glared at her. ‘You’re filthy. Get out of the chair or we’ll have to clean that too.’

 

Ida examined her from one eye. ‘But the chair is so soft and pillowy. I’m sure the King wouldn’t begrudge his maid some rest in this _incredibly_ comfortable chair.’

 

She never would have dared to speak this way to her better before, but Ayin had been most grateful for her assistance in obtaining a night away, and suitably sympathetic after her encounter with Loki. It had brought the two women much closer, which surprised Ida still more. Usually, her friendships progressed at a glacial pace.

 

Ayin looked down on her reclining friend, struggling to maintain a serious expression. ‘Come on, lazy.’ She cajoled. ‘Your bed will be much better. And, as an added bonus, you won’t be found napping in the King’s own chair and executed for your insolence.’

 

Ida closed her eyes and groaned again. ‘If I’m executed, will I be excused from work tomorrow?’

 

Ayin laughed. ‘I doubt it. Everyone is working like slaves to get everything perfect for Thor’s Fesitval tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if they started enlisting the help of recently departed spirits.’

 

Ida got to her feet. ‘Today,’ she corrected grumpily.

 

‘What?’

 

Ida fixed Ayin with a hang-dog stare. ‘It’s past the midnight hour. So Thor’s Festival is technically today. Not tomorrow.’

 

Ayin made a face. ‘Such a sunny disposition.’

 

‘I try.’

 

The two gathered their materials, and sluggishly left the room.

 

***                       *                       ***

 

Thor’s Festival was every bit as decadent as the combined imagination and toil of nearly ten thousand Asgardian servants could make it. Pavilions sheltered the lord and ladies from an unfortunately bitter wind as they watched contests of strength, agility, and, as the day wore on and more mead was consumed, stupidity.

 

Despite the cheerful atmosphere of the festival, the Autumn weather refused to cooperate. A steady drizzle turned the contest field into muck, and the wind ensured that the pavilions did not offer shelter quite as complete as many would have hoped. Sigyn huddled close to a brazier filled with burning coals, and shot angry glares at her impervious fiancé.

 

‘I marvel constantly at your ability to keep warm, even in the most frosty of conditions,’ She commented in a contrived tone, eying his thin tunic.

 

Loki sneered. She was always doing this, reminding him of the knowledge she held over him, of how his reign depended upon her silence as to his heritage. She glanced pointedly at Thor, who remained blank. Loki wanted to laugh. Thor already knew, so her tiny barbs were for naught.

 

Instead, he replied by way of an insult. ‘Not everyone is as weak and vulnerable to the elements as you, dear Sigyn.’

 

Thor frowned at Loki’s cruelty, but attempted to make light. ‘Loki! Is your heart as icy as your hands must be? Why do you speak so to your beloved?’

 

Loki snorted. ‘Keep your concern to yourself, brother. Besides, she is no beloved of mine, despite our little arrangement.’

 

To his surprise, Sigyn gritted her teeth and looked down. After a moment, he was stunned to see her eyes gleam with unshed tears.

 

Thor stood, and rested a meaty hand gently on her shoulder. ‘I’m sure a hot cider would make everyone feel better. Sigyn?’

 

‘Yes, please.’ She kept her eyes fixed on the fire, as though willing away her emotion.

 

‘Then I will fetch one at once! Loki?’

 

‘Cider is disgusting served hot.’ Loki snapped.

 

Thor looked non-plussed, but left the tent without comment.

 

Once he was gone, Sigyn’s posture reverted to its normal stiffness.

 

Loki ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. ‘Well-acted, beloved.’

 

 ‘Not everyone is as transparent and uncontrolled as you, dear Loki.’ She echoed in a sweet voice.

 

Loki stood, and turned to better examine a sword contest between two guardsmen. ‘My, my, how very clever you are, using my own insult against me. Tell me, is it because you have none of your own, or because you mean to flatter me with your imitation?’

 

Sigyn raised an eyebrow. ‘Why, to flatter of course. As your fiancé, I must of course look after that… glorious ego of yours.’

 

Loki sighed and rubbed his temples, a headache beginning again. ‘Sigyn, darling, please shut your mouth. My ego would like some peace.’

 

‘Why? Tired of crafting adroit insults?’

 

 _Tired._ The word tore at him, seeped into him. He was tired. So tired, of Sigyn, of court, of deception, of everything.

 

His disillusionment made him blunt. ‘No. I’m tired of everything.’

 

He faced her once more. ‘Therefore, I shall speak plainly. The Council is a pain. Largely, it’s a pain because _you_ have convinced the other members that by undermining me they benefit the common people. It was not my intent to give the commoners a say in my rule, but if that is what you wish, then so be it. I will be dissolving the Council at the end of Autumn. Then, I will hold elections to the eight positions available. The people will decide who shall represent them. I doubt they will choose you.’

 

Sigyn stood, looking murderous. ‘That’s breaking our agreement.’

 

Loki grinned, trying to provoke her further. ‘No, actually, it’s not. You forbid me from removing you from the Council, and you forbid me from getting rid of the Council, but technically I am doing neither.’

 

‘You do, and I’ll tell the whole Kingdom that their much-hated King is a treacherous Frost Giant.’ She hissed.

 

Loki smiled. ‘You’ve been a most engaging opponent Sigyn, but all games must end. You were so careful not to overplay your trump-card. A very wise choice, because you knew that if you did, I would just insist you play it, and damn the consequences. Unfortunately, I’ve simply decided that I’m tired of it hanging over me. So, play your card, if you want to, and we’ll see how things work out, won’t we?’

 

Sigyn looked satisfyingly enraged. ‘You’re making a mistake, _fiancé_. There’ll be a war, and when it’s all over, and the dust has settled, I and that lovely brother of yours will be standing over your broken body.’

 

Loki smirked, hoping to anger her further. It seemed, however, to have the opposite effect. Sigyn seemed to visibly calm.

 

‘I suppose I cannot be too angry. Really, perhaps this is for the best. After all, your brother is _far_ easier to manipulate. And the people love him. Such a shame you could never command such feelings.’

 

The statement upset him more than he liked, and he turned away.

 

‘Besides,’ Sigyn continued, ‘Bedding Thor will be so much less distasteful. He, at least, is not a disgusting, icy beast.’

 

Loki had grabbed her by the throat before he knew himself. ‘I wouldn’t wish you upon anyone, even my foolish, boorish brother.’

 

He flung her across the tent, and she collapsed on the ground, and sat propped on her hands, glaring.

 

‘You’re nothing but a whore!’ Loki found himself yelling. ‘Just because it was for power rather than money doesn’t change anything.’

 

‘Loki!’ A shocked voice broke in.

 

The ex-lovers looked up sharply. Thor stood at the entrance to the pavilion, grasping two steaming ciders, Fandral by his side.

 

Loki heard a sob, and turned back to see Sigyn stumble to her feet and brush past the two men, still crying. Loki wanted to scream at the concern on their faces. They were so stupid, so easily led by a few crocodile tears.

 

Thor stared seriously at the King. ‘You should not treat your lady so poorly, King or no, Loki.’

 

Seeing Loki’s eyes light up with rage, Fandral cleared his throat. ‘I’m… I’ll just go check on Sigyn.’

 

He didn’t run from the tent, but he certainly departed with more than the usual speed.

 

‘What do you know of the matter? Stay out of it.’ Loki spat, turning to seat himself at the now vacant brazier.

 

Thor sat down, and the two sat silently, the clang of sword on sword from the fight in the field a sharp reminder that their argument was far from over.

 

It took Thor almost five minutes to drain his tankard, but when he had, he spoke. ‘You loved her once, brother. For the sake of that love, and for the fact that she will be your Queen, you should treat her more kindly.’

 

Loki snorted, but said nothing.

 

Thor shook his head. ‘If you loathe her so much, why continue the engagement?’

 

 ‘Because I must. She has my balls in a political vice.’

 

Thor seemed surprised at Loki’s unusually crude turn of phrase, but continued. ‘Even so. You loved her. If you let go of your hostility, you could love her again. Would that not make that which must be far more pleasant?’

 

‘I loved her deception, Thor. Her mask. But loving a mask and loving what lies underneath is not the same.’

 

‘It is still love.’ Thor countered.

 

Loki had had enough. He jumped to his feet. ‘Jane’s loss clouds your judgement, brother. Not all love is worth saving.’

 

And with that, he left Thor to enjoy the festival alone. 


	6. His hasty departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one to keep things moving. The next chapter is likely to be ridiculously long: I had planned a much shorter version of the scene, but it just didn't feel realistic. Ida acted all damsel-ish and I wanted to puke. So, while I play around with words, hopefully you can enjoy the words below.

As could be expected after the events of that afternoon, the feast was an uncomfortable affair for the King and his guest of honour. Sigyn, eyes held wide, baited Loki at every turn.

 

She indirectly insulted his reign by reminiscing continually about the glory of Odin’s reign with Thor. Loki gritted his teeth.

 

She requested a minstrel to play a slightly altered version of ‘Victory at Jotunheim’, which featured two new lines regarding a “pretender to the Asgardian throne”. Loki began downing mead with impressive speed and regularity.

 

She fawned over him, making a great show of her devotion, to the confusion of many in the court. Loki felt bile rise in his throat.

 

The final straw came during the second course, when she made a point of holding his hand, and then leaned in to kiss him. They had not touched one another in almost thirty years and had not kissed in far longer. Loki flung back his chair and strode angrily from the table, ignoring Sigyn’s plaintive cries and Thor’s surprised shout.

 

Having stood, Loki suddenly felt the effects of the alcohol. His head spun, and he felt sick.

 

‘Come now, brother. Sit with us. The night does not have to end like this,’ Thor pleaded with him.

 

Loki needed little convincing to return to the table when he felt so vile. So he sat and glared at his untouched food while Thor and Sigyn entertained a parade of well-wishers, who visited the dais between courses. 

 

He felt a little better having consumed some venison, and a delicious, if somewhat mushy, vegetable stew. By the midnight hour, he no longer felt dizzy. Instead, he felt quite relaxed. He quite enjoyed talking with Thor about his life on Midgard, and watching Thor’s face light up as he described his children and grandchildren.

 

‘Biologically they are not my own,’ Thor confided. ‘Jane did not want them to face what I had to. Longevity is a curse when your loved ones’ lives pass by in blink. We adopted.’ His face became more serious. ‘Amelia, our eldest, does not have long left.’

 

‘How old is she?’

 

Thor stroked his beard. ‘Nearly sixty-six.’

 

Loki took another gulp of ale to avoid comment. Midgardians did not usually live much past eighty years. That left her with a miserly, and likely somewhat sickly, fourteen years ahead.

 

Thor’s brow lifted. ‘But! I shall see a great-grandchild before the year is out.’

 

Loki laughed. ‘What prodigious breeders your descendants are!’

 

Thor elbowed him. ‘Care to try and catch up?’

 

‘Not even if we were to face extinction.’ Loki snorted dryly, looking at his betrothed as he raised his cup again. Sigyn might have been beautiful, but she disgusted him.

 

Thor tactfully changed the subject.

 

Loki’s enjoyment of the evening, however, soured considerably when Sigyn insisted they dance. Unwillingly, he joined the other couples in the square whirled about to a lively tune featuring a particularly good flutist. With Sigyn taking every chance to press against him, and Loki constantly pulling away, the couple’s dance resembled an awkward game of tag.

 

‘Do I really disgust you so, darling?’ Sigyn asked with an amused smile.

 

‘Don’t be silly darling,’ Loki replied. ‘You repulse me too.’

 

When the dance ended, Sigyn attempted to embrace him. Loki shoved her back, grabbed her hand in a crushing grip, and dragged her back to the dais. Murmurs rose at his obvious display of temper.

 

‘Loki!’ Thor hissed. ‘Your behaviour is unbecoming.’

 

Loki felt his face contort into an aggressive grin. ‘I apologize, dear brother. I am not much of a dancer. Here!’ 

 

And with that, he pushed Sigyn into Thor’s arms. The pair looked at him in confusion.

 

Loki features twisted with exasperation. ‘Go on then! Dance! This is a feast! You should be enjoying yourselves.’

 

Their faces continued to evince their bewilderment, but they nevertheless made their way to the square.

 

Free of his companions, Loki decided to take his own advice. It was an evening of enjoyment, and so help him, he would enjoy it, even if he had to leave the festivities to do so.

 

Tucking an entire flagon of mead under his arm, Loki strode from the hall, and out into the cool corridor with a sigh. If all went well, he could maintain a pleasant level of intoxication for the rest of the evening, and not have to look upon Sigyn for almost four and twenty hours.

 

**~                                             ~                                       ~**

 

Ida ran her hands down an exquisite cloak, marvelling at the fabric’s beautiful texture. She was meant to be checking the King’s clothes for lint, and ensuring they hung neatly in his wardrobe, ready should he choose to don them. Most days, however, Ida used the task as an excuse to touch beautiful cloth, and inhale deeply the soft pine scent that clung to the clothes. It was a perfume of course, not Loki’s real smell, but she had smelt the scent on him that day on the balcony, and she enjoyed the reminder nonetheless.

 

She did not know why she felt compelled to perform such an odd ritual. The King still frightened her a little. Perhaps it was the result of his frequent intrusion into her day-dreams. He was always such an engaging and handsome fantasy.

 

Ida shook herself mentally. She had been standing, idly stroking clothes for almost five minutes. If she didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t be in bed before 2am, and that would only make her life harder. She rushed into the bathroom and began washing down the tiles.

 

Her surge of energy was short-lived. She found herself simply sitting on the floor and watching the soap bubbles pop after only a few minutes. She sighed. Cleaning late at night was unbearable without Ayin. Sadly, the blonde maid had been taken away to co-ordinate cleaning the Great Hall. The Welcome Feast from the night before had, by all accounts, displayed an enthusiastic disregard for the fact that the hall would be used again in two nights’ time. For tonight, the lesser hall had been decked out in Autumnal splendour, and throughout the castle, music and merriment were still faintly audible.

 

A door slamming made Ida jolt upwards. She got to her feet, wiping her hands on her dress. Perhaps Ayin had finished early. She left the bathroom, and crossed to the bedroom door.

 

Her pulse accelerated when she realized the identity of her visitor. It was not Ayin. It was Loki, his nose slightly reddened from drink, clutching an enormous flagon.

 

_Oh shit._


	7. His bedtime story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something of a delay. Sorry about that! Uni takes up a lot of my time. But I skipped a lecture today (supposedly to study) and this happened instead. :P

Ida stared incredulously. It was incongruous to see the King, so intense and focused, loose-limbed from drink. The fact that the tip of his nose had gone slightly pink was the cherry on the cake… or his face, now that she thought about it.

Unaware of his visitor, Loki raised the large flagon with difficulty and took a swig.

Ida retreated into the bathroom, quickly gathering her things. The tiles were still a little soapy to the touch, and could probably do with another rinse, but she was eager to retire to bed, and the King’s unexpected arrival gave her the perfect excuse. 

Hefting her pail of cleaning materials, she cautiously entered the room and curtsied. 

‘Good evening, my King.’

Loki jolted, but surprise quickly turned into annoyance. ‘Is there nowhere in this godforsaken place to be alone?’

‘Forgive me,’ Ida began, but she was swiftly cut off.

‘Get out! What presumption. Do you know what hour it is? Or are the complexities of a timepiece beyond you?’

Ida frowned. He had instructed her to clean in the evening, and so she had. He was not meant to return for at least another hour – the feast was still in full swing. Loki, however, was far from finished.

He advanced on her, his voice cracking and dropping to an enraged whisper that terrified her far more than any shout. ‘No reply? Have you lost your precious wit since last we spoke?’ 

His eyes were mad, and for the first time, Ida was truly afraid of her King. She shrunk away, unable to stand up to him as she had before.

A strange expression crossed his face then, and he seemed to pause for a moment.

The next moment, however, brought his recovery and his rage. 

‘Perhaps it is better that you are mute. I won’t have to silence your screams.’ He grinned far more widely than usual. The action pulled his skin taut over the bones in his face, emphasising the insanity gleaming in his gaze. Ida stumbled back. He looked like something out of a nightmare.

Her eyes were drawn to movement and colour. His hands. They were twitching, and a dark green, poisonous-looking mist gathered about the tips of his fingers.

Suddenly she found a voice, high and hysterical. ‘Don’t! Please my King, what have I done? I’ll go right now, I’m sorry!’

Loki looked surprised. The insanity left his eyes. The mist disappeared from about his hands.

And Ida collapsed sobbing on the floor. Her bucket clattered beside her, emptying the brightly coloured contents of several vials of cleaning fluid onto the carpet

Loki appeared paralysed, frozen in shock as he regarded the prostrate maid. Ida, however, was completely blinded by her tears. Magic had always frightened her, and the idea that it would be used to harm her brought forth an almost hysterical reaction. Her breathing was choked and uneven, interspersed with explosive sobs. 

Loki was used to causing distress, but something about the complete disintegration of the previously feisty maid made him feel guilty. He shoved the feeling away.

‘Get up.’

He could tell she was trying to stop crying, but the sobs continued as she struggled to her feet.

‘I wasn’t serious.’ He wondered at the truth of his statement. He hadn’t intended to harm her, not seriously. The mist would have done little except numb her flesh, a temporary effect that would not have wrought any permanent change. Still, something in him wished the mist had been nothing more than an illusion, designed to frighten only. 

He regarded the swirling mess of the cleaning fluid, seeping into the rug, and poked gingerly at a broken glass vial with the toe of his boot. ‘Clean this mess up. Then get out.’

Ida’s head jerked quickly in assent. She bolted from the room with her bucket, and soon the sound of running water came from the bathroom. It did not drown out her hiccouphing sobs.

Guilt swelled within him again. He wanted to blot the emotion out, to smother it. He settled for taking several large gulps from his flagon. The alcohol burned his throat, and he felt slightly sick as its taste lingered in his mouth.

He frowned. He was drunker than he had realised. Feeling unsteady, he decided to seat himself cross legged on the floor. The couch seemed too far away.

Ida returned. She set down the bucket, and began to carefully remove the shards of broken glass from the carpet. She threw them in a bin in the corner, before blotting the wet mess with a rag, pressing firmly so as to draw out the moisture.

Loki watched absently. The fuzziness in his head made him confused. He didn’t understand quite how and why the evening had unfolded as it did. His own reasons made no sense to him, and all he wanted was for everything to be simple. He wanted to be warm and content and relaxing in his bed. Instead he watched the maid clean, observing the tears as they dried on her face.

‘Tell me a story.’

The moment moment the words left him, Loki could no longer recall why he had said them.

Ida’s head jerked up, and she regarded him with confusion.

Loki gestured in encouragement, and gulped down some more mead to dull his embarrassment.

She remained silent, and resumed blotting the rug. When she spoke, it seemed a great effort. ‘I’m afraid I don’t really know any.’

Loki snorted. ‘Everybody knows at least one.’ When she remained confused, he clarified. ‘Their own.’

She blushed, and the fear left her face. ‘I’m afraid it would bore you, my King,’

Loki raised an eyebrow. ‘It won’t. If you tell me the truth.’

‘If I told you the truth, I’d be fired!’ She seemed genuinely worried, but amusement coloured her tone.

‘I promise,’ he assured her with a smirk. ‘Your dark, terrible past will be safe with me.’

She smiled. Loki’s heart soared.

‘Very well.’

Ida began her story in typical Asgardian-fable style. ‘In the twenty-second year of the reign of Loki, a girl was born in the mountain village of Glitnir. 

Loki interrupted her with a groan, and took several mouthfuls of mead while Ida stared.

‘I’m so old!’ He whined in answer to her confused gaze. Ida cleaned the rug in silence, unsure of how to respond.

‘Go on,’ he prompted.

Ida cleared her throat. ’The daughter of the village chieftain, she was destined to marry a politically significant man in Glitnir, bear many children, and spend the rest of her days squabbling with other wives in an effort to feed them from the village’s meagre resources. Her only comfort was to be her father, who would ensure that her offspring would fare better than most.

‘But the girl-child was born struggling with the life-cord around her neck, and from that moment she never stopped struggling. She fought her stars in every way she could. However, her family’s prominence meant that there was little freedom, and so her main rebellion was not to be bad, but simply to be odd.’

Ida poured a little water onto the rug, and rubbed gently. Loki watched her with wide eyes. At some point in the story, he had relaxed into a slouch. The combination of his cross-legged pose, and the lack of his usual rigid spine, leant him the air of a child.

As she continued, he lifted the enormous flagon of mead and drank, which somewhat spoiled the effect.

‘She was interested in types of flowers, but also in how the blacksmith worked with metal. She could sew, but when given scraps of fabric she made slings instead of dolls, although she always gave them to the boys, because she knew that her mother would hit her if she was discovered. But her chief joy was in secrets. She was a master eavesdropper, an amateur sneak, and, as time went on, a thief.’

At this point, she paused, familiar shame flickering in her chest. But when she raised her eyes, she found nothing but admiration in Loki’s eyes. She blushed and hurried on with her tale, wringing water from her rag into the bucket.

‘She did not steal for the usual reasons. As the daughter of the chief, she had all she could need, and many things she didn’t. But that was not why she stole. She stole for freedom, for privacy, for a part of her life that was hers and hers alone. She stole brooches and thimbles and flowers and pastries, and she stole knives and nails and medicine and books.

‘It was an addiction, and though each item was small, soon the village became aware of a thief in their midst. It took many years for suspicion to fall on the chieftan’s family, but eventually it became clear that the thief was among their number, for only that family had access to all the items that had been taken. And as the strangest member of the family, the primary suspect was Nerida, the middle daughter.’

Loki started, and Ida paused.

‘I only just realised that I didn’t know your name,’ he explained.

Ida smiled as she dabbed at the damp mark, all that remained of the spilt cleaning potions. ‘You never asked.’

Loki lowered his eyes. ‘I didn’t realise I wanted to.’

Uncomfortable, Ida offered a fleeting smile and went on. ‘But there was a problem. The Chief adored his strange daughter. He loved her for her curiosity, for her penchant for anything different and new, and for her curly hair, which was just like his. And so she was never confronted directly. Instead, the whispers grew, and she became isolated from the rest of the village. People stared when she approached, so she stopped approaching. She became a creature of shadows and hidey-holes. And at night, sometimes to comfort herself, and sometimes for revenge, she continued to steal things.’

Ida paused, as the old feelings of guilt, fear and rejection clawed at her. ‘Eventually, even her father could not deny the knowledge any longer. His anger and hurt were great, and he stopped speaking to her. She was alone. Beaten. And the fight left her.’ 

‘She stopped stealing after that. She stopped resisting, and complied with whatever others wanted. Several years passed this way, and soon she was old enough to wed. But no one asked for her. And no one spoke to her really, even to talk of the weather. She hoped, as the seasons turned and the years went by, that her past would be forgotten. But the seasons turned, and the years went by, and nothing changed. 

‘So one evening, after most had retired for the night, she went to her sister’s closet, and stole a fine blue dress. She went to her mother’s purse, and stole five gold coins. She took her father’s favourite dagger, and her brother’s bow. Then she stole a horse from the stables, and bread from the baker, and rode for many days and nights, until she came to the palace.’

Ida sat back and examined the near-dry rug. The area was still slightly darker than its surrounds, but this would fade in an hour or two. She glanced up at Loki, dropping the cadence of a story-teller.

‘That’s the end of the story, I suppose.’

Loki blinked sleepily at her. ‘You told it well.’

She seemed pleased, but still nervous. ‘Thank you, my King.’

Ida stood and hefted the bucket, carrying it to the balcony so that she might empty it onto the gardens far below. Chill night air blew in through the open doors, and Loki shivered.

She returned to find Loki regarding her with enormous, frightened eyes.

‘I’m sorry for scaring you with the mist.’

Ida remained silent as she repacked her bucket with the unbroken vials of cleaning fluid, and her other cleaning materials. 

Loki seemed to take her silence for anger. 

‘I’m sorry!’ he repeated a little more urgently. And then, almost petulantly, ‘You looked so terrified of me. I hated it. I wanted to make you sorry for showing you were afraid.’

Ida remembered the odd pause before the mist had appeared, how he had seemed surprised by her reaction. It seemed she had hurt him, and he had retaliated. 

‘So you decided to scare me even more?’ She asked mildly.

Loki sighed and got to his feet unsteadily. ‘I was drunk. And angry.’ He wobbled, and quickly sought a wall for support.

Ida smiled. ‘You still are drunk, by the look of things.’

Loki shot her what should have been a death-glare, but the effect was marred by the smile that played about his mouth. In his drunken state he couldn’t suppress it properly.

Ida giggled, and Loki couldn’t help but break into a full-blown grin.

His brother’s words tugged at him. When was the last time you smiled?

Probably his first encounter with Ida. And here he was again, reduced to an idiotic grin before a mere maid.

It’s the mead. He assured himself.

‘I’m going to bed.’ Loki announced, straightening himself up and wiping the grin off his face.

Ida appeared unaware that her King had recovered his dignity, and looked, if anything, still more amused at his return to formality.

‘As you wish, my King.’ She stood and picked up her cleaning items.

He marched quickly to his room, trying not to wobble, and heard her steps fade as she walked to the door. When he paused to support himself on the door frame of his bedroom, however, he heard her voice, tinged with laughter.

‘I imagine you’ll have quite a headache tomorrow, my King. I’ll be sure to avoid any rug percussion in deference to your head.’

Loki gritted his teeth, but was unable to come up with a clever response. ‘Thank you!’ He called, trying to inject a sarcastic tone into the yell.

A laugh was his only reply.

He found himself smiling as he fell asleep.


	8. His maid's vivid imagination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Ida shut the door behind her, hugging herself. Not many could claim to have emerged the victor of a verbal sparring with the King, drunk or no. However, as she was running over their conversation, she realised her mistake. She would not have to be quiet as she cleaned his rooms the next evening in deference to his headache. She would not have to be quiet ever again.

Her week of training with Ayin was over. From next week, she would be assigned to her permanent roster, and that would no longer include Loki’s chambers.

The idea saddened her so much that she paused in the corridor, mentally scrambling for any excuse to go back, to say good bye, to explain… what exactly? That the servant he ignored would be blonde again, instead of a poodle-haired brunette? Like he would care.

She continued on her way, calling herself ten kinds of idiot as she went. An idiot for caring. An idiot for imagining Loki would care. An idiot for forgetting this was her last day. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

She reached her room, and lit a candle as she readied herself for sleep. The sameness of her room dismayed her. Loki had burst into her life, a burst of vicious colour, but now he was lost to her, and there would be no sign that he was ever there. From the outside, her life would appear exactly the same.

Perhaps because of her unwavering focus upon the dark-haired monarch, Ida had not one, but three dreams featuring her King that night. In the first, he was inexplicably with her in Glitnir, yelling at her father for his cruelty towards her. 

In the second, she watched him from a great height as he rode through the countryside on a cloudless day. He urged his bay horse up a hill, and dismounted just below the summit to take in the view. He looked so free, with the wind pulling at his hair, and no anger or worry creasing his brow.

His manner was noticeably different from the way he usually appeared. It was only several days later, as Ida thought back, that she realised what the difference had been. For the first time, while he was alone on that hill, he did not seem to carry an air of loneliness. The thought made her sad whenever she dwelt on it.

The third dream, however, made the next day rather less restful than she had hoped. Instead of enjoying her day off pottering around her room and reading, she found herself struggling each moment to think of something - anything - other than Loki’s bare torso.

She dreamed of him lying on his back in his bed, completely bare, gently working a hand over his thick cock. The room was unfamiliar, but it seemed to be almost dark outside. Some distance behind her, she felt the warmth and heard the faint crackling of a fire, dying back to coals. 

In the dream, there was nothing strange or unusual about finding him like this, only the sensuous gratification that came from the sight. She moved towards him slowly, feeling a shy smile pull at her lips. He turned his head and met her gaze with a lazy smile, but did not stop the movement of his hand. 

She paused at the foot of the bed, suddenly at a loss.

Loki’s smile widened. ‘Coming up?’

She nodded quickly, pulling herself onto the bed. The movement was rather less graceful than she would have liked; she was hampered by the hem of her long nightgown.

Loki, however, seemed oblivious to her difficulty. He made room for her beside him, and then enclosed her in his arms, kissing her on the back of her neck and he pressing his hips against her backside.

‘You’re still dressed.’

‘Yes.’

Ida wanted to slap herself, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

She felt his frame shake slightly with laughter. ‘I don’t like it,’ he breathed in her ear.

‘I can fix it,’ she ventured, reaching to slide down a shoulder strap. His arms loosened from around her as she tugged the fabric down to expose herself. Naked, she remained facing away from him, but pressed against the warmth of his body.

She felt him laugh again. ‘Always so shy in the beginning,’ he murmured, amusement colouring his tone. ‘But in the end…’

He never finished the sentence. The kisses he was placing on her neck and shoulders helped her forget her unease, and she turned in his arms to kiss his mouth.

He moaned in appreciation, pulling her hips flush with his. She could feel him against her stomach, smooth, mind-meltingly warm and deliciously hard.

Ida felt herself becoming aroused. An ache bloomed between her legs, and she felt need as a gentle swell through her whole body, moving through her with every heart beat. She shifted to begin kissing his neck and nibbling at his ear. She didn’t know exactly what to do, but she knew she wanted him between her legs as soon as possible, and it seemed that this would be the fastest way to bring about her desires.

It seemed to work. His breathing seemed harsher. One hand moved from her hip to the fullness of her butt-cheek, while the other moulded itself to her breast, occasionally pulling back to play with her nipple. The clearest indicator, however, was the noises that came from him. For some reason, Ida’s subconscious pictured Loki as a very vocal lover, one who produced a steady stream of filthy moans and gasps in response to her touch.

A particularly pleading noise from his throat compelled her to stroke him. He shuddered, and Ida kissed him. The thought that she could make him this aroused made her feel powerful, and less afraid.

She had thought to find herself underneath him, grasping his hips and pulling him closer with every thrust, but when the time came, he had a different idea.

‘Please, I want to see you.’ He whispered, rolling onto his back and tugging at her waist.

It took her a number of short slides before she was able to take him fully, and he whined impatiently.

‘Don’t tease me like that.’

She hummed quietly in response. ‘I’m not trying to tease you.’ She shifted down slightly, deeper than before. He gasped, and she slid upward again.

‘But I can’t take you all at once,’ she continued softly, shifting down again. The slide produced a swell of euphoria, and Ida was unable to keep her the neediness out of her tone. ‘Because you’re just so _big._ ’

With these words, she seated herself fully upon him, a little cry issuing from her open mouth.

Loki made a sound too, somewhere between a moan and a frustrated growl, as his hips lifted roughly. Ida began lowering herself with greater speed and force, her eyes fixed on the flex of the muscles in Loki’s stomach. She wanted to bite them…

Ida recalled that their behaviour towards one another had become rather more frantic and rough after that, but she couldn’t remember the specifics. As with many dreams, all she could recollect with certainty was the emotions evoked: the desperation, the overwhelming pleasure, and bone-deep satisfaction. Needless to say, these feelings made it difficult to focus on the tidying of her rooms she had intended to do the next morning, and she spent a long time in bed, a hand between her legs, working herself frantically to the thought of Loki.

But when she eventually got up, languid and more relaxed than she had been in months, loneliness gripped her once more. If she didn't clean his rooms, it was likely she would never speak to him again.  
  
The rest of her day off was coloured by the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, that happened. In a dream at least. I am not very confident writing smut (despite the fact that I've read a lot of it), so if you have any ideas for improvement, or would be interested in beta-ing the smutty bits, let me know!
> 
> Please note: if this wasn't gratuitous enough for you, it gets more UNF-y later on. You know. When they actually bang. ;)


	9. His unfortunate fixation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something quick to keep things moving. But don't worry - we inch ever closer to my two lovely characters banging for real, instead of in a dream. ;)

Ida’s day off past in a haze of arousal, interspersed with periods of clarity and regret. Her room remained messy, and she ate nothing. She dozed frequently, awaking with the echoes of sensual dreams playing at the corners of her mind. And after she satisfied herself, after her mind had cleared, she buried her face in the pillow and despaired. Loki was not hers. He had never been hers. He never would be hers. This she knew, and this she could accept. But the thought of never even seeing him again made her heart ache.

She found herself going over their interaction again and again, allowing herself hope at every sign of interest from the normally aloof monarch. But in the end, the conclusion she reached was always the same: he was drunk. Very drunk. It probably meant nothing to him.

The next day dawned clear and bright. As Ida walked quickly to receive her new assignment, her breath formed puffs of white mist in the air. Autumn was progressing quickly. 

Ayin caught her gaze from across the room as Gilda gave a brief speech thanking the maids for the extra work they did for Thor’s visit. Ida smiled back, and wondered if their friendship would continue now that they were cleaning other rooms.

Ayin turned her attention back to Gilda, and Ida followed suit, but had trouble listening. Her new life, only a week old, seemed like it was again transforming. _We’ll see each other less, that’s certain. But that doesn’t mean we can’t take our nightly meal together, or go dancing. And if we did that…_

Ida felt herself getting agitated, and wrenched her thoughts back to Gilda’s announcements.

‘…haven’t spoken to the King, but the Council have said that as far as they know…’

The crowd of maids seemed to be intent on her words, but their significance was lost on Ida.

Gilda was conscious of their attention and raised her hands. ‘Now, don’t get too excited, but as far as they know, the feast two nights ago marked the end of the formal festivities.’

The room erupted in cheers, and Gilda laughed. ‘Any other gatherings are unlikely to involve us in any sustained fashion. Normality should resume now.’

‘Thor’s still staying though?’ Ida recognised Katla,the oldest of all the maids. No one knew exactly how old she was, but those who worked with her claimed that she regularly made reference to events which occurred before Odin was born.

Gilda would likely have snapped at the question had it been from anyone else, but the smile she directed at Katla was indulgent. ‘For the foreseeable future, yes.’

Katla grinned, showing off her missing tooth. ‘Good. I’ve missed having him around. Great arse, that boy.’

The maids laughed again, and thereafter began to disperse. 

Ida pushed through the crowd and curtsied to Gilda. ‘I believe I’m to receive my permanent roster today?’

Gilda nodded. ‘Ask Mejn, she was working it out for you. She should be in the Key Room.’

‘Your office?’ Ida clarified.

Gilda wrinkled her nose. ‘That broom cupboard of a space is not my office. But you do know it? On the left before the stairs?’

‘Oh. Of course.’ Ida felt silly, but smiled resolutely and took her leave.

 _One day I won’t look stupid in front of Gilda. One day._ She promised herself.

Mejn gave her her new roster, complete with a few rough maps - it appeared her new route involved mostly unused hallways and stairs.

‘Cobweb duty,’ Mejn informed her cheerfully. ‘But don’t worry - we never leave anyone on that roster too long. Sends people crazy, not seeing another soul for the whole day.’

Ida blanched, but forced a laugh for appearances sake.

She kept up a stream of affirming thoughts as she hefted her cleaning equipment. Unlike the nobles rooms, where the equipment largely consisted of vials filled with beautiful-smelling cleaning potions, the unused halls required very large buckets, and brooms and dusters with very long handles, presumably for cleaning hard to reach places.

By noon, Ida came to the conclusion that her week with Ayin had been poor preparation indeed for the halls. The halls were dark, damp smelling places, and cleaning was a rough and ready process, designed to beat back the dust and cobwebs, rather than aiming to keep an already beautiful room spotless.

There was one up-side to the cold, stony corridors, however. There was no one there, and they echoed beautifully. It was, in short, the perfect place to vent her frustrations.

‘I hate this!’ she yelled.

The echoes answered her.

_I hate this, I hate this, I hate this…_

 

**~          ~          ~**

 

Loki spent the morning after Thor’s feast cursing himself. Potions to cure hangovers were relatively easy to make once you knew how, which Loki had for almost two centuries. The problem was they took a full two weeks to mature, and he hadn’t had the foresight to check his stocks before indulging at the feast.

He knew a few pain relief spells, but all were of the numbing kind, designed to allow a man with a broken arm to walk over rough terrain without wincing as his arm was jarred. They did nothing to address the effects of dehydration.

He did eventually use magic to call forth a jug of water and a cup from his washroom, but not without spilling half of it on the carpet. Magic required a good deal of mental focus, and Loki’s mind was struggling to focus on anything except the pain in his head, and the rolling pit of nausea in his stomach.

He groaned when he remembered his behaviour with the maid… He threw the covers over his head again, trying to shut out the memories as they surfaced. She had smiled as he drunkenly wobbled, had teased him somehow… He screwed his eyes shut tightly. He refused to remember. But his eyes flew open as he remembered earlier events. 

_Tell me a story._

_I didn’t realize I wanted to know your name._

‘I’m a fool.’ He murmured miserably. ‘A transparent fool.’

He gritted his teeth and groaned again as his head throbbed in response to the pressure. He’d been so obvious about his interest, and she a mere maid! A nobody, a nothing. She was simple and simpering and for some reason he liked her far more than he was comfortable with.

He pushed his embarrassment to the side, and focused on Nerida. Ida. _Why on earth is a maid making me feel…?_ He didn’t quite have a name for it. It was a light, tight feeling in his chest. An excitement. He gave up trying to name it. It was bad enough she made him feel anything at all. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, to have such an obvious weakness at this critical point in his reign.

The game he and Sigyn had been playing for the best part of a century was about to come to a close, and he had an inkling it would be violent. A fondness for someone as powerless and unimportant as a maid was more than inappropriate: it was dangerous.

Still, his sore head refused to focus on strategy, and in the end he decided it couldn’t be too dangerous just to _think_ about her. And so he did. He indulged his imagination, let himself conjure up wild and unlikely situations which usually ended with his hands in her hair, kissing her madly.

He enjoyed the idea for a while, before he realised he was grinning like an idiot. Over the idea of _kissing_ her. It had been so long since his fantasies were anything but overtly sexual, and yet here he was getting all worked up over the idea of a kiss.

He moaned again and covered his eyes. ‘Pathetic,’ he mumbled, tamping down his excitement. The feeling fled rather quickly, but the sadness that replaced it reminded him that the battle for control in this matter was far from over.

He slept the day away, grateful that it was not a cleaning day, and rose around the time most Asgardians prepared for sleep. Dinner time had long since slipped away, and so he contented himself with ordering bread, cheese, and water. His stomach ended up rolling at the smell of the cheese anyway, so it remained uneaten on the tray the serving girl had brought.

He seated himself at his desk with a sigh, looking guiltily at the papers spread before him, most needing urgent attention. Asgard had not stopped just because his brother was visiting, and he had fallen behind.

With a sigh, he picked up a large sheaf, and began to read.

  

**~          ~          ~**

 

Loki was busy all of the next day. He had discussed the council dissolution with Valbrand, who had been suitably horrified at Loki’s rash suggestion. In the end though, he had agreed to see to the production of almost ten thousand large posters, to announce the coming elections and encourage the peasants to nominate candidates for their area. Loki had settled on Mid-Winter’s Eve as the day for the vote - it was already a holiday, and most people would be free to go to cast their votes at the relevant location.

Valbrand, however, had delivered the not unexpected news that almost none of the regions had any sort of official town building to serve as a polling station. Loki had hastily written strongly worded missives to the chieftains of these various towns requesting suggestions for a suitable place. He didn’t quite threaten death for those who didn’t reply at the first opportunity, but he certainly came close.

Mid-Winter was only ten weeks away. Just ten weeks to familiarise Asgardian peasants, accustomed as they were to absolute rule by an all-powerful king, with the ideas of elections, candidates, and voting.

Loki timed his return to his chambers to coincide with Ida’s cleaning round. He entered, and was delighted to hear the tell-tale thump and slide of someone using a heavy brush to sweep the wooden floor. He didn’t bother to contain his smile, but walked quickly into the living room.

Inside, however, his smile quickly faded. The woman cleaning was not Ida, but the blonde maid who had preceded her.

He had called out before he even realised what he was doing.

The woman turned, eyebrows rising high above her large eyes in surprise.

Loki knew he should say something, but found himself mute. There was no way to enquire after Ida without admitting his interest to this servant. Given he was struggling to admit his interest to himself, disclosure to a third party, a servant no less, was out of the question. 

‘My King?’

Loki blinked. He still couldn’t think of anything to say. He let his irritation at his own stupidity show on his face, before whirling about and stomping out of the room.

He slammed the door for good measure, and headed for the library instead. He felt inwardly sheepish, but sheepishness was definitely preferable to the mockery that awaited him if he owned his true feelings. As was becoming his habit regarding Ida, he pushed the feelings away. He adopted something of a mantra as he walked.

_I am Loki, of Asgard. I am burdened with glorious purpose and I am not becoming attached to a servant. I am Loki…_


	10. His unusual request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! This student's year has finally finished. :D Actually it finished a week ago. But I'm in the middle of moving house, so I think I can be forgiven for the extra delay. To those of you who are still reading, hope you enjoy.

Loki spent perhaps an hour in the palace library, pacing and trying to organise his thoughts. He wasn’t successful, but it in the end it didn’t matter. The maid would be gone. He returned to his room and slept.

The next morning came too soon, and removing himself from the warmth of his bed seemed some unusual torture. He washed, but was still bleary-eyed as he dressed and entered his living room.

Perhaps it was his weariness. Maybe his eyes had yet to adjust to the brighter light in the room. Whatever the cause, he caught his foot on the edge of the rug, and tripped. On his way down he managed to grab the corner of an ornamental table. It was not meant to bear the weight of a full bucket, let alone the king of Asgard. It skidded away from the pressure, eventually toppling over and causing Loki to slump the final few feet to the floor, shaken and enraged. He yanked himself upright with a curse, noting as he did so the enormous scratch one of the table legs had caused. It had even gauged a shallow depression almost four inches long in the wood of the floor.

He scowled. He hated untidiness and imperfection in general, but being the cause of a defect was a new and frustrating sensation.

_Perhaps I could blame it on the maid._

The thought was fleeting, dismissed almost instantly as childish, but the next moment he realised its full implications. He grinned. This lie would fix things. This lie would be _fun._ He hurried from the room. 

_Now, where would Gilda be at this time of day?_  

**_~     ~     ~_**

It was Ida’s second day of cobweb duty, and she could see already why people were liable to go a little crazy doing it. The cold, stony corridors provided rather too much opportunity for reflection. Ida used hers to lament the loss of opportunities to speak to Loki, overanalyse every detail of every meeting they had had and then castigate herself for dwelling on the subject.

She really did try to keep her mind off it — after all, her obsession was futile — but like a tongue to a sore tooth, her mind kept returning to her King. She took her lunch at around the twelfth hour, slumped against another dreary stretch of grey wall, with the light of a flickering torch for company.

It was there that Gilda’s messenger found her. Breath heaving, the boy begged her to hurry to the Queen’s Courtyard. 

Ida admitted she had no idea of the way, and saw disbelief, frustration and good-breeding war over the child’s face, before he did the right thing and offered to lead her there.

The boy might have been puffed, but he still set a quick pace that jarred Ida’s teeth as they raced. Ida was baffled. _Why on earth would Gilda want me in the middle of a day’s work?_

The Queen’s Courtyard was eventually revealed to be a particularly graceful stone pavilion, set some twelve feet above ground level, with a great many plants and wooden benches around the perimeter. In the centre was a small fountain, and on almost every stone pillar there grew climbing vines.

The boy had apparently recovered some of his good humour on the journey, because, seeing her awe, he bothered to explain. ‘It was Queen Frigga’s favourite place in the whole palace. Her magic still keeps the chill from the air, and the plants as though it were spring all year round.’

Ida shivered a little, suddenly feeling a slightly cold, staticky feeling to the air. She quickly dismissed the notion that she could _feel_ the magic. It was just her fear. The air was fine.

Gilda was seated with several nobles. On seeing Ida arrive, she excused herself and strode quickly towards them, her eyebrows drawn in a sharp V. Ida shivered again, fear coursing through her.

Gilda dismissed the boy curtly, and then grabbed Ida by the arm and dragged her behind a pillar, out of sight of the nobles.

Ida squeaked. ‘Gilda? Whatever’s the matter?’

The older woman’s expression didn’t alter a bit. ‘You don’t know why I’ve called you?’

Ida wanted to say something to convey the depth of her surprise, but found herself mute. She shook her head instead.

Gilda’s lips pursed. ‘I had a visit from the King today. Apparently he awoke this morning to find that Ayin had severely damaged the floor when she was cleaning.’

Ida didn’t understand why this necessitated the interruption, but still felt concern for her friend. ‘What’s going to happen to her?’

Gilda glared at her, before biting out. ‘Oh, _nothing._ Not really. He’s asked for her to not clean his rooms anymore. But that’s not why I called you.’ She massaged her temples, half-turning away for a moment. She seemed to be deep in thought.

When she looked up, the anger was gone, replaced by concern. ‘I’ve headed cleaning of the Western wing of the palace for almost a century, Ida. Do you know how many times a nobles has asked for a particular maid to clean their rooms in all that time?' 

Ida shook her head.

Gilda’s gaze was uncomfortably intense. ‘None. Until today, when the King of Asgard himself requested that a maid, a _trainee_ no less, be reassigned to his room.’

Ida felt sick. The sudden surge of excitement after all the fear wasn’t mixing it all well.

‘Oh.’ She responded lamely.

‘Ayin has told me that you learned quickly, and did a very good job. But no matter how well you cleaned, there’s no reason for the King to bother learning the name, no, sorry, the _nickname_ , of a maid.’

Ida felt an enormous blush steal across her cheeks.

Gilda’s eyes remained locked to hers. ‘I don’t have to tell you that the King is famed for his dalliances with ladies of the court. But you are not one of them. You do not have the protection their bloodline affords. If you are bedding him, and word gets out, you will be humiliated. Your chances of a happy marriage in the palace will be ruined. I may even have to fire you.’

Ida blushed furiously, but spoke up nonetheless. ‘I am not bedding anyone, let alone the King!’

The noblewoman sighed. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I even believe it, for once.’ On seeing Ida’s confusion, she continued. ‘Most girls are just lying to mollify me. But you do seem to be honest.’

She fished a key out of her pocket. ‘This is the key to his room. You’ll clean it tonight instead of your usual rooms.’

Ida nodded, her heart pounding. The questioning seemed to be over. She accepted the key, and curtsied deeply. ‘Yes, my lady.’

Gilda inclined her head, and Ida began to walk away.

Gilda’s voice followed her. ‘I believe you, Ida. But ensure you do, too. For your own good. And his.’

 


End file.
